The bend in the river

 

Paula's story: 

When Genevieve left her husband after 30 years of marriage — at least 10 of them good, she figured — she was determined to make for herself a sanctuary, a safe place of her very own: Solitary. Peaceful. Happy. She found a fifth-floor walkup in a narrow building on a cobblestone street in the oldest section of the city, which happened to be walking distance from her job. She lugged her linens, her cutlery, and her cats up the steep stairs, settled in as best she could, and waited, hoped, ached for her new life to begin.

Meanwhile, one of her closest friends, a man she had worked with for a few decades, and who, over the years, had become not just a drinking buddy but also a confidant, was dating a younger woman and, naturally, had become consumed with his new paramour. Genevieve and Lewis rarely spoke these days; he didn’t even know that she had left her husband.

Then, one afternoon, Genevieve, in the midst of her divorce, overcome with sadness and fear, had a mini-meltdown in the employee bathroom. Her sobs were witnessed by one of the young writers on Lewis’ staff, who immediately reported it to her manager, who then mentioned it to Lewis.

“What the fuck?” Lewis thought.

And thus was born his Grand Plan.

Within a few months, the younger woman in his life had been jettisoned, and Lewis had become singularly focused. On a new life. On a life with Genevieve. On a life he had always dreamed of.

They worked together so well. They liked each other so much. How could love not be far behind?

They started hanging out, just like the old days. Cocktails. Card games. Confidences. And when the short-term lease on Genevieve’s apartment was up, Lewis just happened to mention that there was a woman in his building who wanted to lease her apartment for six months while she went to Thailand. Genevieve shrugged, and thought, why not? And so it happened that Lewis moved all of Genevieve’s possessions, including her cats, into the apartment two doors down from him, one evening while she was at work. She was flabbergasted. She was charmed. She was wondering what he had up his sleeve.

This particular apartment was in old warehouse, sitting in the bend of the Mississippi River, in downtown New Orleans. Their apartments were on the top floor, and Genevieve sometimes would spend hours looking out at the river, wondering about her future. The ships reminded her of life. As they barreled down the river past the city skyline, larger than the skyscrapers on the bank, their bows were pointed straight at her apartment, and their rusty steel hulls would fill her vision. At night particularly, Genevieve would fear that disaster must be at hand. But always, just in time, the ships veered away south in a gentle, majestic arc, turning aside and sweeping down toward the Gulf of Mexico. You just had to have faith.

By the time her absentee landlord decided to come back home, Lewis had won Genevieve’s heart, and he had once again moved all of her stuff while she worked, but this time, just two doors down, into his spacious corner apartment. There, against all convention, they moved their bed into the immense front room, where they could lie in the moonlight and watch the river traffic, as the constant stream of ships traversed that treacherous bend in the mighty Mississippi.

They lived together, learned together, laughed together at that bend in the river. They fell madly in love at that bend in the river. He proposed marriage to her at that bend in the river.

And they finally understood that, even when life seemed to be barreling straight at them with malicious intent, if they held fast and believed in each other, the things that scared them would, finally, turn away, and leave only the starry sky.

 

 

Patrice's story

You know how when you are at the river getting ready to get into a kayak or plop into an inner tube?  

There’s all this noise around you.  Kids chasing each other, chattering, yelling.  Music playing from multiple sources.   Maybe even traffic sounds on an overpass, dogs barking.   A cacophony, auditory and visual.  Once you are in your kayak, canoe, or  inner-tube and have pushed yourself away from the shallows, letting the current move you along, the noise becomes background, or even ceases.  And if you are a little ambitious you can stroke faster with an oar, or kick your legs, and take a bend in the river ahead of the others and suddenly, there is tranquility, an entirely new sense of place.

Well, that’s how I’m going to treat the world of politics in my country, and maybe even family drama for the foreseeable future. I’m going to go ‘round the bend toward the tranquil space where the noise is background or inaudible.  I’m going to float where the river takes me, drifting in contemplation.  Perhaps like an otter I’ll relax on my back and when I sleep, lightly hold Robert’s hand and listen to the tinkle of water in my ears.

If I get too close to shore and the noise begins to intrude I will sing to myself, loud and proud. I will speak extemporaneous poetry to trees, and birds, and fish, and rocks.  I will live in the lacuna and find the drift, the float, that raises silence to an imperative,  where a soft approach serves both me and the river.  

Should I last on the river until the noise subsides I will step ashore, find some kindling, build a fire, and sit once again on the ground. 

 

Sarah's story

 Richard gazed idly out of the window.  Why were they creeping along at this lazy pace?  It was supposed to be a high-speed train, wasn't it?  The pride of the French railway system.
He began to notice, nevertheless, that in this way he remarked more things, for example this strange orchard running alongside the tracks, with spindly trees, how woefully thin!  Only a yard or so apart and help up by a sort of wire fence.  No wonder, how could one expect a tree to grow successfully in such conditions?  Leave it to the French!  Then it occured to him that perhaps it wasn't an orchard but a tree nursery, a vast tree-nursery, for it had been going on for several minutes, and stretched almost as far as the eye could see.
But the train was picking up speed now, leaving the trees behind, and they came to a river, with full-grown trees wildly lining its banks.  The trees, of various sizes now, mirrored themselves in the still waters—this was no raging stream, which was the way Richard preferred a river to be, and for a moment he wondered whether it was not a river at all, but a canal, so straight did it run.  The French were fond of canals.  As he lazily racked his brain, however, he did not remember any canals in this region.  He was bored again, and he sighed.
The train slowed again, and eased into a town.  Not a particularly attractive town.  The train stopped, a few passengers got off, others climbed on.  And, what ho! a young girl of 19 or 20 or so came in and chose to sit down in the very seat directly across from him.  As if she couldn't have chosen another seat, there were lots of them, and left him in peace.  Was he going to have to sit here and look at her for the rest of the journey?  
He was just about to suggest the idea to her when she smiled brightly and got a word in first.  "You wouldn't mind, would you," she began.  In French of course, but that was not a problem for Richard; he was fluent in several languages.  "You wouldn't mind changing seats?"
His look of stupefaction only encouraged her to go on.  "I mean, you don't seem very interested in the landscapes, you look as though you're just thinking your own thoughts."
How the dickens did she know what he was thinking or not thinking, or what interested him or not?  Besides, what 'landscapes' could she be referring to in this doddering town?  But before he had time to finish asking himself these questions, she had jumped ahead of him again, as the train slid out of the station.
"I mean, I love watching the countryside slide by, there are all the old familiar things, but also surprises.  You never know just what you're going to see."  She was looking at him expectantly.  What the devil did she want him to do?  Agree with her?
"So.  Can we change seats?  It's so much better looking out the window in the right direction!"
She stood up, still wearing her expectant smile, and he realized he was meant to stand up too.
Why should he do so? he asked himself with some irritation.  But it was less of a bore to comply than to start an argument, so he got up, not without a frown, and gave her his seat, sitting down in hers.  Too late he realized he could have taken a seat farther away.
"Look!" she said brightly before he could even get his thoughts together.  But how could he look, and at what?  He was now facing the wrong way to see what she was looking at, even if it were interesting.
"There's a bend in the river!  Who knows what's just beyond it?  I do, of course, because I've been here many times before.  But you don't.  Aren't you curious?"
Good lord, she expected him to converse with her as well?  He was about to reply that curiosity was not one of his defects, but she prevented him the ignominy of rising to her bait by continuing without interruption herself.
"Even so," she said, "there could be a surprise around the bend.  Look, we're almost there.  Yes!  Today there's a fisherman, he's got a long white beard, a real grandfather.  And he must be one, there's a little boy with him.  I imagine he tells the boy stories.  But why isn't the child in school?  Oh, right, it's Wednesday afternoon.  Ah, they're gone now.  Too bad."
Was she really going to chatter on like that for the rest of the journey?  In fact, she was, as he soon saw, but he needn't have worried about having to hold up his part in the conversation, for she valiantly took over the whole responsibility herself.  At every change in the landscape she found something to exclaim about or to marvel at.
"It's like life, isn't it?  Full of unexpected things.  You never know what's around the bend."
Ha!  She could say that, at 19.  But for him?  His course was mapped out in one straight line, to the next promotion, and the next raise in salary, and then another promotion, and another raise in salary ...  For what, he surprised himself by asking.  But she was bubbling away again.
"Look, beehives!  Over there at the end of the field.  So many of them!  They must make tons of honey.  I would like that.  I would like to raise bees some day.  Wouldn't you?"
No chance of that happening, he thought.  Or ...?
"The world is full of so many routes to take, so many doors to open ... don't you think?"
Of course she didn't expect him to reply.  But so much cheerfulness, Richard  grumbled automatically to himself, was irritating to one of his nature.  Yes, it was quite oppressive.  In fact it was, rather, somewhat disturbing.  But then the train began to slow down again, and after a minute or so came into a station, hardly less glum than the one before.
The girl jumped up.  "Well, this is where I get off.  It was so nice talking with you." (With me? he thought, to me you mean.)  "But you can get your seat back now."  She shouldered her small backpack and started to leave.
"Wait," he said, to his own surprise, " what's your name?"
"Judith," she said.  He had a momentary vision of her holding the head of Holophernes by the hair.  Dripping blood.  But girls didn't do that sort of thing any more.  Or did they?  But before he came back to the moment to say "Thank you" (now, why did he say that?) she was out the door, with a little wave.  He strained to see her out on the platform but she must have gone off in another direction; there was no-one to be seen but the station master, blowing his whistle.  
As the train pulled out, he stared at the seat across from him, which looked singularly empty.  He got up and crossed over, taking his original seat again.  And began to look out of the window, at the delightful French countryside, dotted with farmhouses, some of them with lighted windows now that dusk was setting in.  What could be behind those windows, he thought?  And he speculated.  On many things.
 

Geraldine's story

THE BEND IN THE RIVER

 

The river, still quite far from it’s estuary, was running alternatively through wild and smooth landscapes. 

In the early morning, Kate and John, after a wonderful night spent under the stars on one of the little sand island’s dotting the river, got up very smoothly, heated the water for their coffee and prepared a bowl of cereal and yoghourt.  It had become their daily routine before starting the rowing to the next step.

The itinerary had not really been prepared.  They would store their belongings in a waterproof container which was fixed in the middle of the canoë and start rowing in the early morning mist, making as little noise as possible in order not to break the charm : the river was like a mirror with just a few dots made by the insects waking up and taking their first sip.  The reverberation of the high trees was an invitation to follow them, reach them and catch them, between the few white clouds dancing in the water.

This deeply zen tempo would last untill the sun would set highly in the sky provoking a mild wind which would start moving the water they were sliding on.  The East wind was the most welcomed as it would help pushing the canoë and easing their efforts.

After a couple of hours, they would start watching out to see if there was a little village around where they could stop for the morning coffee , which invariably would show up.  They would hopp off the canoë, keeping their rows with them and connect to humanity again with a hot coffee and a croissant in a country bar, listening to barroom gossip : bliss ! 

Where will the luncheon stop be ?  Where there’s a church, or a castle, or something to visit. They would consider the distance, then, spotting it on the map, would hop back into the canoe and row peacefully along the shores.  What is there to see ?  Beavers bringing little branches of wood to consollidate their dams, blue kingfishers spotting fishes in the river and , if lucky, catching them,  otters swimming along, metallic blue or bright yellow dragonflies frantically flapping their wings, shoals of fishes gliding through the shimmering water and sometimes, herons crossing the blue or grey skyes above.

Lunch stop : back to civilization.  The canoë would be hidden in high grass under a bridge in the town, the rows taken with them, used as walking sticks, not that they needed them, but to make sure noone would sail off with the canoe.  Stroling along, they would invariably come accross a « brasserie » for lunch, near the castle or place they wanted to visit.  And back to the Middel-Ages or Renaissance period showing what life, for the rich, poweful and noble was like.  How incredible the constructions were, the huge chimneys in the great lounges, the stained glass for the windows, the stone or marble slabs, the terracotta or yellow tiles, and the richly designed furniture and woven drapery !

After a little pause in the minimarket to buy food for the evening dinner on the chosen island and the next morning’s yoghourt, the  trip would continue towards the sea where all rivers end up to, but it was still more than 500 kms away…

One afternoon, rowing vigorously to the West, they came to a bend in the river. As soon as the bend had been taken, what did they see, but a barbed wire crossing the river with a « no entrance » pannel and a signpost arrow showing where to leave the river…. And walk for 3 to 4 kilometers with the canoe and belongings to avoid…. The big nuclear power station built there in order to have enough water to cool down the system.  

Pulling up all the courage they had left, and regretting the big meal they had taken, they picked up their luggage, home, means of transportation and all and bending under the weight, struggled along the deviation of this power station on the wild river, erected there for mankind confort !

That evening, they landed on one of the scattered sand  island with no noise, hence the bird crys crossing over their heads, gathered a few branches, started their fire and when they had enough braise, took out their grill, and feeling like Robinson Crusoe, gently cooked the meat they had bought in town, the potatoes cooking in the charcoal, and a fruit.  So close to paradise !

 

Jackie's story

The bend in the river

Sitting in the courtroom that morning I reflected on the time we had spent scouring the internet  for a house for sale.   This one appeared one day on a freebie website.

“House for sale, 4 bedrooms, Large kitchen and fireplace with sitting room,  bay windows and a view on the river.     The photos looked too good to be true and the view from the sitting area onto the water was promising.

We leapt at the occasion.    A dream come true. We were transferred by my husbands work from North to the South and we leapt at the occasion to discover another part of the country.

 I had always wished somewhere to live with access to water, whether it be a lake, small pond or better yet a river.

We immediately phoned the agent and even without seeing the house we said YES we wanted to buy.   Cash and the only request was that we could move in before the month of June so as to enjoy maximum pleasure from the garden and especially the river.

Done.   Paid and we moved in.    Our first thoughts were delight as we walked into the house.   Impeccable condition, colours that we loved on the walls and the kitchen was to die for.

When though we got to the sitting room and looked for the so called view of the river – we couldn’t see any  water because of a bend in front of the garden sloping down and made the view impossible.    So,  no river view.

Should we take the owners and the real estate agent to court.    When is a bend not a bend?  A view onto the river obstructed by a bend?.

So here we are in front of a judge.    Examining the advertisement made by the real estate agent and approuved by the owner.     

She stated that :

The agent advertised a “view on the river”
If the physical reality (the bend) means the view doesn’t exist, the agent made a false representation.

The bend is simply the cause of the obstruction, not the person responsible.   In fact it is not the bends fault. The river’s bend blocks the view, so the property does not actually have a river view. Because the agent claimed it did, they made a false statement—regardless of whether they intended to mislead anyone.

Many months later we got our view having put up with tractors , scoupers, and men shoveling sand and earth to un-bend the bend in the river thus providing us with a fantastic view  !

If this story is driving you “round the bend “ You will be happy to know that this is the BEND ooops THE END